


Reasonable Romances

by Tathrin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Pre-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tathrin/pseuds/Tathrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a Record of the Romantic Entanglements of the Malfoy Family</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to Makani, because it is entirely her fault that I now adore the Malfoys and also find them unutterably hilarious. Really, everything I write in Potter-verse ought to be dedicated to her, because her art took my love of the books to a whole new level. But this story, especially, is her fault; it was inspired by (and the title shamelessly lifted from) one particular drawing of hers, which can be seen [here](http://acciobrain.ligermagic.com/hpmalfoymix.jpg) at her Potter Art website, [Accio Brain](http://acciobrain.ligermagic.com). Thanks, Makani!

It was a dirty, not-so-secret fact of the Pureblood world that the perfection expected of their children was sometimes encouraged with more than words alone. Punishments for a daughter or especially for a son proving to be “only human” were often dealt out as physical or magical reprimands, sometimes quite vigorously. Failing to live up to the ideal of the perfect child was unacceptable.

Lucius Malfoy strove constantly for perfection but it wasn’t to please his father.

It was to spite him.

Lucius lived his whole life to goad his father. On the surface he appeared the perfect, dutiful son, but he and Abraxas both knew that every smile was laced with scorn and every acquiescence was given with a secret sneer. Even knowing the often violent consequences, Lucius reveled in baiting his father.

He did not resort to the common tactic of outright rebellion; he didn’t frequent Muggle establishments, or slum in the company of Mudbloods, or engage in any other sort of deplorable, disgraceful behavior for the sole purpose of embarrassing and infuriating his elders. He saw no reason to sacrifice his own reputation and future simply to annoy his father.

Abraxas wasn’t worth it.

So Lucius played the proper young Pureblood, because he was one. Lucius was always polite—to those who deserved it—and scornful to those who didn’t. He knew who he was better than, and that was quite nearly everyone. Lucius genuinely abhorred the Muggle-born filth that polluted the wizarding world, he never had to fake sincerity when insulting blood traitors, and he knew for a fact that as far as wizarding families went his was better—and older, and purer—than most. But he was a gentleman about it, more or less. There was, after all, nothing quite so rude as perfect politeness if one did it right.

Lucius excelled in his classes and made all the right friends. He swaggered through Slytherin like he owned it, and he may as well have. He was Prefect and, to all extents and purposes, king of the green and silver. He got in with the right people and, when he graduated, he made that one particularly advantageous alliance—

But that was later.

At school, he soared on the Quidditch pitch; the gorgeous young athlete winning points and glory for himself and his House. He might not have been the absolute best Quidditch player at Hogwarts, perhaps, that was arguable, but he was certainly very, very good, and he played it with the most flair. He ranked in the top handful, to be sure, and he made sure that his skills were noticed. Everyone said that he could have played professionally, if Malfoys had needed to work, or simply as a professional hobby since they didn’t, if he’d wanted to—and if it hadn’t been for that other, more important something that he became so busy with after school, that precluded him engaging in frivolities like sports, no matter how good he looked on a broom or how many teams would have liked the chance to put him on their pitch.

He flirted just enough—well, maybe a little more than that—with all the right witches, teasingly dangling the possibility of full courtship in front of the more impressive prospects; he was a Malfoy, and he would inevitably make an advantageous marriage, and in the meantime he played the game with breathtaking eloquence that had proper young ladies falling all over themselves for the chance to dance with dear Lucius. Perhaps he flirted just a little more than was strictly necessary, but he did enjoy it so. 

Then he met Narcissa, or more accurately he suddenly noticed her because he’d known her all along but one day she was _there_ and then the flirting was only fun if she was watching, and looked jealous. And _then_ it was only fun when he was flirting with _her_. But that was later, too.)

Lucius was, in short, exactly what he was expected to be. He excelled at his role of the perfect Pureblood son and heir but he also excelled at rubbing it in his father’s face. Everything he did was in _spite_ of his father, never _because of_ , and he made certain that Abraxas knew it. Lucius never obeyed; he occasionally chose to, coincidentally, do the very thing that his father had desired, but it was never because Abraxas wished it. Lucius would go out of his way to foil his father, but always ever so subtly. No one but Abraxas himself could ever make note of Lucius’s disobedience. He was very careful about that. In public, he played the dutiful son, but he took care to make certain that his father knew he always did it with a sneer.

There was neither love nor respect between the two Malfoys. If Abraxas was proud of having such a properly perfect—albeit mortally annoying—son, he never said. The occasional gruff, off-hand, “well done,” was all the praise Lucius’s efforts ever received, and little annoyed the younger Malfoy more than the very few occasions when it sounded like his father actually meant it.

As for Lucius, if he had ever looked up to his father, those days had ended when he was very young. By the time he walked through the doors of Hogwarts, Lucius had already established the habit of baiting his father to blind rage. Abraxas knew how little regard Lucius held him in; Lucius always made that expressly clear. And nothing annoyed Abraxas Malfoy more than disrespect which was, of course, why his son worked so hard to convey his.

It was a good thing Lucius was so fond of Quidditch, because the rough and risky sport made an excellent excuse for all manner of bruises, cuts, and other, less benign injuries.

Abraxas was questioned, just once, by one of Lucius’s teachers about his son’s physical state. Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration professor, confronted the boy about his father’s temper after Lucius returned from a brilliantly infuriating Christmas holiday his second year, before he was playing Quidditch and could use that as an excuse, because even the most adept healing spell can’t fully eliminate the fading yellow traces of heavy bruising. Lucius was a particularly eloquent twelve-year-old, though, and smoothly talked his father out of any trouble.

Then he sent home a gloating letter detailing how his father was in his debt for how deftly Lucius had deflected McGonagall’s inquiry. He was always good at talking his way out of trouble, was Lucius, and he was smugly pleased at the chance to be able to help his father out and rub it in Abraxas’s face whenever anyone accused him of doing what everyone knew he was.

Pureblood society, of course, knew better than to ask those sorts of questions.

Eventually Lucius grew too big to beat, and then too clever to hex, but that didn’t mean Abraxas stopped trying. On the contrary, the older Lucius grew, the more he seemed to enjoy infuriating his father to the brink of violence and beyond. He would let the old man get a few good blows or curses in, and then smirk through his bloody lips so that Abraxas knew that Lucius could have stopped him if he’d wanted to.

Lucius _allowed_ his father to have his little temper tantrums, and that of course only made Abraxas madder. That superior feeling Lucius had when he saw the enraged realization dawn in his father’s cold eyes was delightfully sweet, and well worth the pain.

The charismatic Lucius Malfoy was very good at getting people to like him. But he was very, _very_ good at getting people to hate him.

He’d been practicing with his father all his life.

Friends, fans, teachers, and sycophants all doted on him. Lucius Malfoy: Quidditch star, Slytherin Prefect, elite member of the Slug Club, and, eventually, favored servant of the Dark Lord. There was really nothing he could do that wasn’t perfect in the admittedly distorted eyes of his grand society. Life was a game, and he was the undisputed winner.

And then suddenly there was Narcissa Black, and the game got harder and infinitely more important than it had ever been before.


	2. Chapter 2

It took Lucius almost a full year to charm pretty little Narcissa Black into loving him as much as he loved her or, at least, took him that long to coax her into admitting it. In truth, Narcissa had probably all along been as half-infatuated with Lucius as the rest of the witches at Hogwarts. Even the girls who hated everything about him could often barely help but simper when he smirked their way—and they hated him for that, and he loved it.

But Narcissa was proud and reticent and not the sort of witch to tolerate being toyed with. Lucius had to prove that she meant more to him than mere flirtation before she would deign to admit to noticing him. She very nearly made him grovel, and he would have if she’d asked. Lucius was used to paying steep prices, and there was nothing that would have been too high a cost for the hand of his beautiful Narcissa Black.

In his entire over-privileged life, nothing had ever made him so happy as the moment when she at last said _yes_.

But Lucius’s perverse delight in torment was an inherited trait, and so was his skill in that delicate arena. Abraxas Malfoy did not take his son’s insubordinations lying down, and just because he usually turned first to a straightforward beating didn’t mean he wasn’t perfectly capable of and willing to torture his son in the same subtle, manipulative fashion that Lucius used so well against him.

So Abraxas spoke to the Blacks, and arranged a betrothal for his son with their daughter—but not with Narcissa.

For the Blacks had three lovely young daughters to marry off, and pretty, pale little Narcissa was the youngest. She had unfortunately been properly demure, and had not mentioned her growing attraction to Lucius to her parents; she was waiting for him to make an official offer, which they could hardly do while still so young, and still in school. Only then would her parents need to know where her heart lay, so that they would be certain to say yes when the Malfoys came calling.

They might not have cared how she felt, in any case; they might have said yes on her behalf before even speaking to Narcissa about the matter. Certainly when Abraxas came on his own, the Blacks were only too happy at the idea of handing their middle child over to the Malfoys. Andromeda, after all, had become troublesome of late. She wasn’t behaving properly, not at all. She had gone so far as to be seen flirting with a Mudblood, and hadn’t been abashed at all about getting caught.

Something had to be done with the girl before it was too late.

That something came in the form of Abraxas Malfoy, offering Andromeda the chance to marry into his terribly respected, terribly rich, terribly Pureblooded family. The Blacks jumped at it, and Andromeda and Lucius found themselves officially betrothed before either knew what was happening. She was in her seventh year of schooling, he in his sixth; perfectly appropriate ages at which to form a marriage contract.

Lucius learned of the happy news one morning at breakfast in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. His father sent him a blisteringly smug letter that Lucius, face transfixed with fury, spent the next fifteen minutes ripping into miniscule scraps of parchment.

Then he stormed out, grabbed Narcissa, pulled her into the nearest empty classroom, snogged her half-senseless, and demanded to know if she’d had anything to do with this. When he explained what “this” was—for Narcissa had not yet learned of their parents’ activities—she did not break down in tears as might have been expected of a delicate young witch in such a situation. Instead she went cold and pale and furious and without a word to Lucius she left to go and find her sister.  

Andromeda, when she learned what their parents had done, went every bit as pale as her pretty little sister, and did not speak at all save to quietly inform the angry witch in front of her that such a thing certainly hadn’t been her idea, and furthermore was nothing she was in the least bit interested in going through with.

Then she excused herself, walked out of Slytherin’s common room, and was not seen again for several hours. After that she appeared much happier, and utterly unconcerned with Lucius Malfoy, and refused to speak to anyone about the rumors flying through the school that had her engaged to Slytherin’s Quidditch Captain.

Lucius, by contrast, played his role to perfection, while secretly fuming. He was quietly very glad that Andromeda had chosen to ignore him, thus allowing him to treat her in kind without it being considered a rudeness, and he continued to discreetly see her little sister, assuring Narcissa that as soon as he was home and could speak to—or curse—his father in person, he would clear all this up.

After all, Lucius Malfoy was very, very good at talking himself out of trouble. He was certain that the Blacks would have no problem exchanging one daughter for another, and he convinced Narcissa likewise. As for his father…well, Abraxas could be dealt with, one way or another. The only real problem was Andromeda but, Narcissa assured him, unbelievable though it seemed to her, her older sister had no interest in marrying Lucius Malfoy, and would be entirely gracious about the alteration to the deal.

Andromeda was seventeen, and would be graduating in a few short weeks. Lucius still had a year more of schooling, though, so it would be expected that while the official engagement announcement would be made following Andromeda’s graduation, the official contract would not be finalized until at least a year later. That gave them time to rearrange things properly.

Andromeda, though, had other plans.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station she got off the train with the other students, but never walked out to meet her parents. The Blacks waited with Narcissa until the platform had emptied then, thinking that the rebellious girl had Apparated home ahead of them to express her displeasure and sulk properly, they had left, scowling.

But Andromeda was not at home.

There was only a note, a very brief one, that Narcissa did not get to read. Her father tore it up, much the way Lucius had torn up Abraxas’s letter a few weeks ago, and then he burned the pieces.

 

 

It wasn’t until four days later, reading the _Daily Prophet_ , that Narcissa learned what had become of her sister.

It was a very small article, just a perfunctory announcement of a small, quiet wedding. Andromeda Black, it said, had married Ted Tonks, a wizard who, Narcissa knew, had been a Hufflepuff student in her sister’s year.

He was also the son of two Muggles.

The scandal was nearly unbelievable. Andromeda Black, of the ancient and respected Noble House of Black, whose motto, _Toujours Pur_ , was often enforced with deadly authority, had snubbed Lucius Malfoy in order to elope with a filthy Mudblood boy.

The remaining Black sisters hid themselves away, Bellatrix raging and swearing vengeance and making not-so-veiled hints about her own recent alliances and the sorts of punishments she could rain down through them; Narcissa sobbing, heartbroken, certain now that Lucius would never want anything to do with her, not with the sister of a girl who had so publicly humiliated him.

Of course, they couldn’t hide forever, the Black family. They had to drag themselves out and stiffen their spines and plaster smiling masks to their faces and pretend they couldn’t hear the cutting whispers that drifted all around them. They had to brave the scandal and go to the balls and the parties and the luncheons and smile through their shame. It was the only way to prove they were still on the right side of the burgeoning war; the only way to prove that Andromeda’s humiliation would not be a fatal blow to the once-esteemed family.

When Narcissa saw Lucius at one of those balls, her heart nearly broke and it was only through a supreme effort of will and years of training in decorum that she maintained her proper society mask and continued to smile, pale and brittle and ready to fall to pieces. When he swept her onto the dance floor she braced herself for humiliation, but none came. When he coaxed her out to the garden, she was certain it was for a private, heartbreaking scene, but it wasn’t.

Lucius didn’t give a damn what Andromeda Black had done, he was in love with her little sister. He wanted Narcissa and what Lucius Malfoy wanted, he got. He was a Slytherin, after all. Nothing stood in his way for very long.


	3. Chapter 3

The garden was cold and dim but Narcissa’s hand in his was warm and her wide blue eyes were full of watery moonlight. Lucius had intended to talk first—they had serious matters to discuss, after all, even if the gardens of a party were usually utilized for more frivolous, enjoyable pursuits—but she was just too pretty, and he couldn’t keep himself from kissing her instead. She only protested a moment, because she knew she ought to; it wasn’t proper, the way they carried on, but they neither one of them really cared about that.

Finally, breathless and disheveled and on the point of having to decide whether to separate or risk really breaching the strictures of propriety beyond all possible excuse, they pulled apart enough to manage a reasonable conversation. “Your sister,” Lucius began, but Narcissa interrupted.

“Oh, I know!” she cried, teary-eyed. “To treat you that way! And then—then—to do _that_ —oh, she’s no sister of mine, not any longer! She—”

“I don’t care about your sister,” Lucius cut her off. Narcissa blinked, startled. “Horrible as it is for you, my darling, I’m almost glad she ran off with that Mudblood.” He smiled, gray eyes dancing wickedly. “I’m selfish, you see,” he continued, “and it gets her out of our way.”

Narcissa gasped, gaping at him. “You’re horrid!” she said, only meaning it a little.

Lucius shrugged. “True,” he admitted. Then the smirk was back, that insufferably smug little smile that could enrage half of Hogwarts in under five seconds. “But you love me for it,” he purred in her ear, and Narcissa had to laugh and agree, and it was several minutes more before they could manage further conversation.

“I was saying something,” he murmured, his breath warm on the smooth, pale skin so tantalizingly revealed by her elegant, off-the-shoulder robes.

“Mmm,” Narcissa agreed, rubbing her nose in the soft curtain of his long, golden hair and paying very little attention to his words. She loved the sound of his voice: sharp and languid and edging now more towards man than boy, deep and musical. She loved the way he said her name, slow and careful, annunciating each syllable like he was tasting it as he spoke.

Besides, it was such a pretty name; it should be said with proper appreciation.

“Narcissa,” he said, and she shivered in delight.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice a heady whisper.

“I’m going to marry you,” he told her. 

Narcissa smiled. “What about your father?” she asked.

Lucius shrugged, the exquisitely toned muscles of a Quidditch captain moving deliciously beneath the soft velvet of his robes. “I’ll deal with my father,” he said, and though he sounded now like a petulant child Narcissa didn’t doubt the lengths of his determination. If Lucius Malfoy said he was going to do something, he did it.

And woe betide whatever stood in his way.

“What about my parents?” she asked, more from curiosity than concern.

Lucius shrugged again. “You think they’ll protest?” he asked mildly. “Personally, I’d think they’d leap at the chance,” he continued, his arrogance entirely justified, “especially in light of—well, in light of the scandal caused by that girl who used to be your sister.”

Narcissa flinched at the reference to Andromeda, but then she smiled, appreciating his discretion. It was cute, the way he just caved to her whims like that. She said Andromeda was no longer her sister—and it was true, their parents had slashed their second child off the family tree as soon as father had finished destroying her note—and Lucius, dear that he was, treated her words as law.

Narcissa could get used to that.

“I think you’re right,” she told him. “After all,” she said somewhat bitterly, “they were certainly happy enough to offer— _her_ , when your father asked, so I can’t imagine they’d be anything but gratefully overjoyed to learn that you were still interested in one of their children, even after—all _that_.”

“Interested in the best of their children,” Lucius said softly, and Narcissa laughed.

“Flatterer,” she called him, and he grinned.

“Utterly,” he agreed, kissing her neck. “But how can I help it, when the object under discussion is as exquisite as you, my darling?”

“You’re shameless,” she told him, delighted.

“Oh yes,” he said, and offered several non-verbal demonstrations on the subject.

It was very much later that they finally made themselves presentable again and returned to the party, sharing a smug smile at all the shocked looks and startled whispers that flew around the room when the other guests saw Narcissa Black on the arm of Lucius Malfoy, both of them chatting amiably and seemingly not in the least bothered by any thoughts of sisters or scandals.

None were more surprised than the parents of the couple in question, the Blacks’ eyes lighting up with restored confidence and naked greed. Abraxas Malfoy, by contrast, looked sour and miserable and he scowled at his son from the other side of the ballroom, thwarted and seething.

Lucius caught his father’s eye and beamed.

 

 

Abraxas, of course, was enraged, but impotent. How could Lucius just carry on as he had before, when he should have been writhing in shame and humiliation? Granted, Abraxas had hardly planned for the girl to run off with that filthy Mudblood, but he couldn’t deny that he’d found the shocking turn of events to be somewhat pleasing.

Oh, he’d been insulted and horrified, enraged at the slight given his family; how dare the girl throw over a Malfoy for a Mudblood? But that she had done it to _Lucius_ —well, Abraxas had almost been willing to overlook the insult himself, so amused was he to think of his arrogant son humbled by the girl.

But Lucius wasn’t humbled. He didn’t seem bothered in the least. In fact, he almost seemed pleased by the girl’s rash actions: content that she was out of his way and not at all troubled by the insult she’d done him in the leaving. And now there he was, going around with her sister like nothing had changed, like the Blacks weren’t in disgrace, like they hadn’t just gravely offended the name of Malfoy with their daughter’s betrayal. Like Lucius didn’t need to care what people thought, because they wouldn’t dare think poorly of _him_.

And the worst part was, it seemed to be working.

Oh, there were whispers, and shocked, scandalized glances, yes; but that was all. No one had thus far dared to so much as look with pity at Lucius Malfoy, who should by all rights have been withering in abject humiliation. But he wasn’t, because he just didn’t care, and somehow, because he didn’t care, no one else did, either.

Abraxas could have strangled the boy with his bare hands.

But there was nothing he could do. Lucius hadn’t asked for his permission to court the girl—not that Lucius ever asked him for permission, really; even when he did, it was couched in tones of insult and smug pomposity and never, ever, in the form of a question. Lucius hadn’t even asked the Blacks, not that they’d have dared deny him, especially now. In fact, both Cygnus and Druella would probably have all but fallen over themselves in relieved delight that the Malfoys were still willing to have anything to do with them at all, after this scandal.

A lesser family would have been ruined.

And, truth be told, if the Malfoys had wanted to, they could have made things very dicey for the Blacks. But Abraxas had only one real target he liked to torture, these days, and publicly shaming the Blacks would do nothing to hurt Lucius. Abraxas would leave them be—they were hardly the first family to be plagued with an ungrateful and rebellious child, after all—and, unfortunately, he would leave Lucius be, as well; he could think of no way now to foil his son’s happiness. Lucius wasn’t even really courting the girl, so Abraxas could make no objection to their socializing. Not until Lucius had to make an official move for the girl’s hand could Abraxas step in again.

He would simply have to wait.

 

 

But Lucius was patient as well; he had Narcissa after all, and saw no reason to involve his father in things by making anything official, not so long as Narcissa had no objection to casual, vaguely improper socialization and, being a supremely confident young witch who had no doubts whatsoever that she was, in fact, eminently desirable and that Lucius was, in fact, utterly besotted, she was perfectly willing to keep meddling, inept parents out of it.

It probably didn’t hurt that she was every bit as infatuated at he was.

So the two of them carried on being a little bit scandalous and very much envied, and time passed, and Andromeda was determinedly forgotten, and there were other, dramatic things for people to concern themselves with—things were happening outside of Hogwarts, things that worried and excited and frightened and tantalized—and then Lucius graduated, and almost immediately he managed to become thoroughly embroiled in those things and with those people, just like Bellatrix had.

And Narcissa beamed with smug, secret pride when she heard.

He hadn’t _told_ her, of course; one never knew when an owl was going to go astray, and to say certain things straight out could invite disaster, and the both of them were too clever and too sly to take risks like that, but he hadn’t needed to tell her straight out, explicitly; Narcissa knew what that letter left unsaid, knew very well.

After all, she already had a sister in the Dark Lord’s service. It wasn’t hard to guess what Lucius was carefully not talking about, and it hardly came as a surprise, anyway. They’d both of them discussed that sort of thing before, they and so many of their classmates, all fascinated by the possibilities, and since Narcissa knew that Lucius was perfect she couldn’t imagine the Dark Lord turning down his allegiance when he’d offered it—

And there’d never really been any doubt that Lucius Malfoy was going to make the offer.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time they met in person it was also at a party, in a garden, alone in the soft twilight with the scent of flowers all around and a long, curling flower in her pale hair. And they kissed and caressed in the shadows, caring not at all for the social dictums that should have stopped them from daring such familiarity; they were Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, after all, and they would do as they pleased.

And what they pleased, right now, was to snog each other senseless.

They had to talk, as well; there were things that needed to be discussed that were best brought up in person, and that had ostensibly been the reason why they had sauntered off into the garden together for privacy—although neither one of them had doubted that the talking would become secondary once they’d reached seclusion—and they did that, too, once they were done with the first part; now sitting next to one another on the wide rim of a fountain, the both of them flushed and breathless with entwined fingers and disheveled robes, talking quietly.

“We’ll marry once you’re out of school,” Lucius decreed, and Narcissa nodded in complete agreement.

“One more year,” she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder. He tangled his fingers in the half-collapsed twist that no longer held her hair up; the style hadn’t stood up to their enthusiastic greetings. She would have to remember to pin it back properly before they returned to the ball, or people would talk dreadfully.

“And your father?” Narcissa asked, more curious than worried. Lucius had said that he would deal with Abraxas somehow, and she never doubted him.

Lucius shrugged, unconcerned. “What can he do?” he asked carelessly. “Ground me?” He chuckled scornfully, and Narcissa giggled with him.

It was true; Lucius was over seventeen, and Abraxas’s only power now lay in making empty threats of cutting off or disowning his only son, and neither Lucius nor Narcissa were worried about that. Such a drastic course of action Abraxas Malfoy wouldn’t dare embark upon, not without good reason.

And Lucius choosing to marry a perfectly pure-blooded young lady from the Noble House of Black, well that was pretty much the antithesis of a “good reason” so far as their circles of society were concerned.

Children were disowned for betrayal of ideals, for scandal, for blatant defiance, for blood crimes; for following in the footsteps of Andromeda Black. They were never, ever cut off for making such a perfect, enviable match as the one Lucius intended. For Abraxas to make any sort of retaliatory protest or punishment over such a thing, that would invite public ridicule upon the family and besides, Lucius was his only heir. Without him, the Malfoy line would end.

And Abraxas could never allow _that_ to happen.

“What about your parents,” Lucius asked, “do you think they’d insist upon talking things over with my father once I approached them?”

Narcissa thought a moment. “Probably,” she admitted. “I can’t imagine that they’d be easily convinced to keep such an exciting matter to themselves, not without all sorts of tedious explanations.” She rolled her eyes. “They’ve been insufferable enough with their hints and questions over how much time we’re spending together.”

Lucius smirked. “A bit less than thrilled that their youngest is behaving so…potentially recklessly?”

Narcissa shrugged. “Well,” she said, “if you were anyone other than who _you_ are, and if they weren’t still trying to bow and scrape their way back into your family’s good graces, they probably would have objected already, but as it is they don’t dare.”

“Good,” said Lucius, grinning. He tilted her chin up to steal another kiss and it was several minutes before they spoke again.

“I suppose they’ll simply have to be surprised, then,” Lucius said slyly.

“Who?” Narcissa asked, still somewhat breathless.

“Your parents,” he replied.

Narcissa stared at him a moment, then giggled. “You mean we’ll simply inform them that we’ve decided to wed? No engagement, no warning, no time for adjustment?”

Lucius shrugged. “Well,” he said mildly, “I’m sure it will take at least a few weeks to make all the arrangements for the ceremony. They can adjust to it during the preparations.”

Narcissa laughed. “You really are horrible,” she said, grinning.

Lucius returned the smile. “And you adore me for it,” he told her, not for the first time. It was true; she really did.

It was much, much later and considerably darker when they resumed their interrupted discourse, Narcissa pinning her hair back up in preparation for returning to the ball. Lucius helpfully held the ribbons for her while she fussed with her tangled locks. She’d already retied the strip of green silk around his long ponytail, although he was unaware that she’d chosen a far more frilly, frivolous knot for his bow than the one he’d arrived wearing. She thought it looked dashing.

“You know I’m not my sister,” Narcissa said quietly.

“I should hope not,” said Lucius, one eyebrow arched smartly.

Narcissa slapped him lightly on the arm. “I meant Bellatrix!” she said tartly.

“So did I,” replied Lucius; his voice was mild, but his gray eyes danced merrily.

Narcissa’s blue ones rolled in exasperation. She stabbed the final pins into her hairdo and examined her reflection appraisingly in the small mirror she’d pulled out. Good enough, she decided, and turned back to her companion. “Well,” she continued huffily, “you should know that I have no intention of getting involved in… _politics_ ,” she said discreetly, “they way that Bella has.”

“You don’t object that I am, I hope?” Lucius asked quickly. Then the corner of his mouth twitched in a small smirk. “Only it may be a bit late for me to back out now,” he added with a proud glance down at his left arm.

“No, of course not!” Narcissa replied. She rested her fingers lightly on Lucius’s sleeve, knowing full-well what lay hidden beneath the soft fabric. Bella had shown hers off often enough.

Narcissa thought privately that it was an ugly design, but she still considered it to be a mark of honor that one was granted the right to bear such a thing, aesthetic or not. “I just wanted you to be aware that I don’t wish to get involved in all that fuss myself. I’ve no problem supporting your efforts, mind; I’m used to that from Bella, and I’ve no disputes with anything I’ve heard so far. It’s just more difficulty and effort than I’ve any interest in committing myself to, directly.”

Lucius covered her hand with his own. “To be honest, darling,” he said, “I’m actually relieved that you aren’t planning on endangering yourself like that.”

Narcissa frowned. “Lucius Malfoy,” she said sharply, “I am perfectly capable of—”

“Of course you are!” he interrupted hurriedly. “I apologize if I implied otherwise, I certainly didn’t intend to. I know you can handle yourself, dearest, and quite well.” He grinned. “I still remember those birds you set on Yaxley two years ago.”

Narcissa sniffed. “Well,” she said primly, “he was being terribly annoying.”

“Oh, he deserved all of it I’m sure,” Lucius replied cheerfully, utterly unconcerned with his comrade’s distress. “You may have noted that I was one of the many watchers applauding you.”

Narcissa smiled. “Well. I’m flattered you noticed,” she said coyly.

Lucius nodded, his eyes very bright. “I always noticed you,” he said softly, and Narcissa flushed. “So I’m well aware of your capabilities, darling,” he continued in a more normal tone of voice, “and I certainly don’t mean to slight them.” He shrugged. “I just know that I wouldn’t be able to keep from worrying dreadfully if ever I suspected you were up to something risky, no matter how qualified I know you are, so frankly I’m just glad that I won’t have to.”

“And what’s to stop me worrying about you?” Narcissa asked quietly.

“Well, I’ll simply have to promise that I’ll always come home safe,” Lucius said, the warm, mischievous twinkle in his gray eyes taking the edge off his bluster. “That way you’ll have my word about it, so you needn’t worry a bit.” He smiled and gently stroked her cheek, continuing quietly, “besides, how could I help but always return, if I had this to come home to?”

Narcissa blushed and lowered her eyes demurely. She wasn’t much reassured but she was certainly appropriately flattered. She allowed Lucius to raise her hand to his lips, and she giggled at how serious he looked. He pulled her to her feet and they linked arms, sauntering slowly down the garden path and back towards the light and bustle of the ballroom. Their talk turned to lighter subjects and neither commented on the fact that they both kept a tight hold on one another throughout the long, gentle summer evening.


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, their plans to wait until Narcissa’s graduation would become somewhat truncated. Scandals had a way of doing that to even the most deliberate of intentions.

Christmas brought Narcissa home from school for far, far too short a time, in Lucius’s estimation. The young, semi-secret couple were determined to make the most of their limited holiday, and at the very first opportunity had fled the bustle and glamour of the opening ball of the winter season for the comparative privacy of the gardens.

Narcissa didn’t even stop to grab her wrap and her frail, frilly dress really wasn’t up to the temperatures outside but Lucius’s arms were so warm that, enfolded in them again at last, she hardly needed the comfort of the silken dress robe he’d removed to wrap around her shoulders. They shivered together, delighted, and didn’t notice the ice underfoot or the small clouds their breath made—when they broke apart long enough to breathe, that is.

They also did not notice that they had acquired an audience.

Regina Bulstrode stopped dead in the middle of the garden path and gaped at the entwined pair. She gaped louder, but they were too absorbed in one another to hear her noises of disapproval. Under the circumstances, she decided that the only appropriate thing to do was to go and fetch others—specifically, parents—who would be far louder and more determined in their censure.

Regina turned and bolted back down the path.

Lucius and Narcissa no more noticed her leaving than they’d noticed her arrive; no more were they aware of the small crowd fluttering towards them—not until their passionate reverie was broken by the shrill voice of Druella Black, shrieking, “Narcissa!”

The couple broke apart and stared in shock. Narcissa flushed bright pink and tried to pull away, shamefaced, but Lucius refused to relinquish his grip on the slim witch. He stared at the cluster of gentlemen, ladies, and parents, and the only emotion visible on his smooth aristocratic face was annoyance. “Do you mind?” he drawled crossly.

Jaws dropped. “Boy!” Abraxas barked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I should think it obvious,” Lucius replied coolly. “And you’re all rather interfering. I’d be much obliged if you’d refrain.”

Narcissa smothered a shocked giggle and stared agog at her beloved, wondering if he had lost his mind.

Abraxas asked him that very thing.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “I’m _busy_ ,” he replied, and turned back to continue where he had left off. Narcissa gave a little squeak of horrified delight. She fluttered her hands, certain that she ought to protest, and certainly permit him to do no such thing—not in front of everyone!—but too reluctant herself to attempt any serious dissuasion.  

“You take your hands off my daughter!” Cygnus Black barked, starting forward.

Lucius stopped with him a single, cold sneer. “I’m going to marry your daughter,” he declared. “So I don’t see as you’ve got any right to protest.” He smirked and glanced at Abraxas. “Father, you’ll make the arrangements?” Lucius suggested amiably.

Abraxas gaped and sputtered.

“Splendid,” said Lucius. He put his arm through Narcissa’s and tugged her away with him. “Then if you’ll excuse us, we were in the middle of something.” And, leaving all the appalled, gaping figures standing dumbly behind them, Lucius pulled his sweetheart deeper into the garden.

No one moved to stop him. They were all too shocked.

Narcissa laughed, horrified. “I can’t believe you just did that!” she exclaimed. “What—what do you think they’ll do?”

Lucius shrugged. “What can they do?” he asked.

“They…they could…” Narcissa’s protest trailed off.

“Exactly,” Lucius said smugly, smirking. He sprawled elegantly on the rim of a marble fountain, its usual spray replaced, in deference to the season, with a delicate ice sculpture.

Narcissa smiled back at him and allowed herself to be pulled onto his lap. “Well,” she said, linking her arms around his neck, “as proposals go, it certainly has novelty on its side…”

Lucius half-bowed, not at all modestly.

“But,” she raised an imperious eyebrow, “I still expect one _hell_ of a ring.”

Lucius grinned.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucius did not have to wait long to receive congratulations. His father might not have been pleased (indeed, Abraxas was incensed; how dare the boy maneuver him so blatantly? After that indecent public display, there was no way that Abraxas could refuse the match, not without doubling the already intolerable scandal) but there were others whose opinion Lucius valued far, far more than he did his father's.

It was only a few days after that delightful evening in the garden—and the even more delightful day that had followed, when he had presented the ring to the delighted, gratifyingly excited girl of his dreams—that Lucius was called to a meeting with his Dark Lord.

The entire inner circle of Death Eaters—which Lucius, though young, was proud to call himself a member of—assembled around their magnificent leader, hanging on his every word, thrilling to each piece of his devastating plan. The meeting ended in dark chuckles and promising looks, and the Death Eaters made ready their wands and their wits.

But the Dark Lord was not through yet; he had one last thing to say.

"Congratulations," Voldemort spoke softly, and every head turned to listen, "are in order, I hear, for one of our own." He grinned, his horrible cold grin; they could none of them help but smile in return. "Lucius," Voldemort commanded, and the young man rose, proud and beaming.

Voldemort nodded at him. "I hear that you have made yourself a most excellent match with the sister of one of our own…Bellatrix, you must be proud as well."

The tall, dark-haired woman nodded fervently. "Oh, my lord, yes my lord, so proud of little Cissa, yes," she agreed passionately.

Voldemort smiled indulgently. "It is good, my friends," he intoned, "to see such brightness in a dark, dangerous time such as this; soon there will be more darkness, and we will bring great danger to those who dare to stand against us."

A low, excited murmur rode the room, although none dared speak aloud until they were certain that their lord was done; he was not.

"But even more importantly," Voldemort continued, "this news gives us all hope for the future. For a proper, pure-blooded future! We must be fruitful, my Death Eaters," he grinned, "and multiply! For it is only we, we few in whose blood no Muggle taint rests, we who can preserve the noble lineage of wizarding society! I look to all of you to follow young Lucius's example in choosing your brides—and husbands," he added, with a nod to Bellatrix and the few other witches who numbered among their ranks. "Purity must be maintained," the Dark Lord cautioned, "or we all are lost."

Then his dire expression curled back into a smile. "Lucius," he said, "once again, my friend…congratulations."

"Thank you, my lord," Lucius Malfoy said earnestly, bowing. He was beaming, his smile brimming with pride and pleasure as he gazed smugly out upon his fellows. Some were grinning back at him friendlily but others looked only jealous.

Bellatrix Black appeared momentarily panicked. She looked at her Dark Lord, and at her soon-to-be brother-in-law, and she frowned, deep in thought. She chewed her lip, then scowled fiercely, apparently coming to a resolution.

Bella spun around and ran her eyes appraisingly over her comrades in arms, and in Mark. Her face closed in a very cold, calculating look as she studied them, these men with whom she fought. She pursed her mouth and tapped a pale white finger against her thin, blood-red lips.

This had to be perfect…

The Death Eaters trickled out, singly and in small groups, all of them paying some form of homage to their Dark Lord before they went, be it quiet words or only a simple bow. A few joked with their fellows while other scuttled off, silent and solitary. None of them wore their masks tonight; these were the elite, the chosen few, Voldemort's favorites, and they all knew one another's names, or at least their fellow's faces.

Secrecy was for the lesser ranks—and for their enemies.

They knew one another's lineages as well, these pure-blood warriors. And they knew that not all of their number were as free of Muggle taint as they claimed, but theirs was a society built on pretense, and so they let their fellows spin their lies and live with them. There was no sense in shaming one's ally by bringing up a half-blood great-great-grandmother, or an unfortunate squib a few branches over on the family tree.

Not unless deeper alliances were under discussion, such as that made so recently between the Blacks and Malfoys. Then, of course, it mattered, for any secret Muggle taint could not be allowed to enter a _properly_ pure-blooded family tree.

There were few here tonight who could afford not to be jealous of the Malfoys and the Blacks for their merger; those were two families whose lines stretched back far, far farther than most others, and of the skeletons they kept in their closets, well, they had many, but they were well-hidden and, for the most part, relatively unembarrassing. Their blood was pure, purer than most, and everyone knew it.

There were, of course, a few other Death Eaters who could make similar claims; a few whose blood was just as pure, or perhaps even purer. Three such wizards were Nott and the Lestrange brothers.

Bellatrix's black eyes narrowed as she contemplated the three men. This had to be _perfect_ …

Nott was boring, she at last decided. He had all the right beliefs, but not enough fire, not enough conviction. He cringed away from real conflict. He was worthless.

Not so the brothers. They laughed at danger and, like Bellatrix herself, chaffed at the tight leash the Dark Lord kept upon his servants. Soon, he had promised them all, soon the conflagration would begin in earnest—but not now, not yet. Let power amass, and fear build. Only then would they strike.

Bellatrix adored—worshipped—her Dark Lord, loved him with every fiery fiber of her soul, but she wanted to serve him _now_ , wanted to bring his words and his fear and his death to the filthy Muggles and the half-bloods and the blood traitors and the Mudbloods _now_. She waited, because Voldemort commanded, but she silently railed against the delay.

The Lestranges, she knew, did likewise.

They would do, she decided.

"Lestrange," she called, and the brothers turned back as one to face her. Expectation lit up both their faces; they knew that Bellatrix was closer to the Dark Lord than even they were, closer than most anyone. There were some who said she was his mistress, but all those here tonight were informed enough to know better: Voldemort had no mortal foibles. His only interest in flesh lay in tearing the life from it. Still, Bella fancied herself his most devoted servant and there were few who dared dispute her claim. Voldemort always smiled and allowed it, which was tantamount to agreement, as far as most of the Death Eaters were concerned.

Certainly she was one of his most fanatic followers.

This would not be the first time that Bellatrix had been given some private assignment by their lord; nor would it be the first time that the Lestrange brothers had been the ones selected to accompany her on her dark and violent quest. Hope that this might be another such occasion gleamed in their sharp eyes. Rabastan fingered his wand.

Bellatrix smiled. "You heard the Dark Lord's words," she said, and they nodded. "We must obey." They nodded again.

"Very well," said Bellatrix. She turned to Rodolphus, for he was the older, and the leader of the pair of brothers. "Shall we wed, then?" she asked him bluntly.

Rodolphus started and Rabastan's jaw actually dropped, he was so surprised. "I—what?" Rodolphus asked, caught off guard by the question.

"The Dark Lord commanded that we marry and mate," she said impatiently. "I see no one more suited to share this task with me than you. Your blood is pure, your convictions genuine, and your magic is as strong as your bloodlust. Nearly as strong as mine. So what do you say?"

Rodolphus stared, then shrugged, and smiled. "All right," he said, his handsome face dark with glee. "Why not?"

He offered his arm to Bellatrix and she took it, glancing back questioningly at her Dark Lord. Voldemort smiled and nodded in approval.

Bellatrix smothered a flash of disappointment and summoned a bright smile of her own. Very well, then; as her lord wished it.

Lestrange it would be.

As for Rodolphus, he seemed thrilled with the proposition. Bellatrix was the most remarkable woman he had ever met, and certainly the prettiest that he had ever had the chance to sow death and destruction alongside. He grinned smugly at his little brother who replied with an impressed nod and a discreet thumbs-up. _Well done_ , his grin said silently. Rodolphus beamed.

And together the Lestranges and Bellatrix walked off into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Narcissa Black had gone back to school filled with smug excitement and with a great glistening rock on her hand. She took every possible opportunity to show it off.

Most of her housemates reacted with the appropriate envious glee, but a few scoffed at her; they said it was just to cover a scandal, or was all a lie, or at the least was doomed for they were too young and too foolish.

Narcissa, sensibly, told the naysayers not to be jealous and flounced off happily. Not even impending N.E.W.T.s—or war—could put a damper on _her_ high spirits. She was engaged to the most marvelous, perfect young man ever to come out of Slytherin house, and her ring was magnificent.

Certainly it was prettier (and pricier) than the one that Rodolphus had handed her sister. Now _that_ was baffling. Narcissa had hardly ever even heard Bella speak about Rodolphus Lestrange, and certainly never in a romantic way. She’d asked her sister when she’d fallen in love him and Bella had just stared at her blankly, told her not to be an idiot, and walked away.

Narcissa had a feeling that Bella didn’t actually care about her fiancé at all and, worse, she had a terribly sinking feeling that the whole affair was, somehow, her fault.

She pushed that out of her mind. If Bellatrix had proven anything these last few years, it was that she took no one’s counsel but her own—and that of her Dark Lord, of course. Bella would do anything for him. Narcissa wondered how Rodolphus must feel, always knowing that he would come in second to their master but, she supposed, he sounded every bit as devoted to the Dark Lord as Bella was. Maybe they had that in common.

Narcissa comforted herself with the smug thought that Lucius, at least, would ever answer to the Dark Lord second. Narcissa herself would always, always come first. She grinned, tilted her hand to better catch the sunlight, and admired her ring again. It really was just _so_ pretty—

“Almost as pretty as you,” Lucius had said, when she’d asked him how he’d picked such a perfect piece for her. “I just looked for the one that was almost as pretty as you.”

Oh, he was just _perfect_ , her darling Lucius was.

Now if only their parents could get things sorted out…

Abraxas had come around, just as Lucius had said that he would have to, but he still wasn’t making things easy. To be fair, though, neither was Narcissa’s father. Cygnus Black seemed to have taken the rather scandalous incident in the garden as an insult—well, granted, Lucius _had_ been terribly insulting, hadn’t he? But oh so charming, of course, at the same time, just like he always was—but Cygnus, grumpily, was dragging his feet in drawing up the marriage contract, and Abraxas was doing nothing to help speed things along.

The two fathers had been arguing about it for weeks. In fact, Narcissa’s mother was beginning to be quite cross with her husband; there was a Malfoy on the line, after all— _again!_ —and she wanted to get started planning the wedding. It was a marital coup, this union, and the celebration of it thus had to be appropriately ostentatious and elaborate.

But nothing could be done until the fathers came to an agreement on the financial aspects of the merger, and they didn’t seem inclined to rush.

All of this delay was driving Narcissa absolutely spare, and she knew from his letters that Lucius was likewise on the brink of losing what little temper he had left. She wondered if her father and Abraxas knew how very lucky they were that Lucius was a Death Eater now; all that business for the Dark Lord kept him distracted and furthermore gave him somewhere to take out his frustrations.

They’d just better have everything sorted out by the time graduation came, Narcissa silently vowed. It was one thing to endure delay while she was stuck in school, unable to see Lucius except for the occasional meeting at Hogsmede, but if she had to keep waiting for the wedding after she was _home_ , well…

Well, then, Lucius Malfoy would be the _least_ of their fathers’ worries.

* * *

There were buds on the trees and flowers poking up through the rich, dark earth in the gardens. The marble had been freshly scrubbed and the windows gleamed like they were made of diamond. Spring had come to Malfoy Manor, but the interior of the estate was not nearly as pretty or peaceable as the exterior would have led any passing observer to assume.

The heavy door to the study flung open to reveal a scowling Lucius Malfoy. “For Merlin’s sake, father,” he snapped, “just give them whatever they want already!”

Misters Black and Malfoy turned to gape at the interruption. “Lucius, how dare—”  his father began but, as he so often did, Lucius ignored him.

He strode over to the desk on which the paperwork was sitting. Abraxas slammed his hands down on top of it. “What do you think you’re doing, boy?” he snapped. “You’re not permitted to be involved in—”

“I’m tired of waiting,” Lucius retorted. “Just give them a pile of gold, buy me the girl, and let’s have done with this nonsense.”

Both fathers sputtered in outrage. Lucius rolled his eyes, the very picture of impatient annoyance. “Narcissa will be done with school in less than two months,” he said petulantly, “and I’d like to have the wedding right after, so we need to get all these tedious preliminaries out of the way quickly if there’s going to be time to make all the necessary arrangements.”

“There’s no need to rush, Lucius,” Mr. Black began, but Lucius just scowled at him.

“Do you have any idea how excruciating it’s been, all this waiting?” he said shortly. “It’s interminable, and I’m done with it. I want to just have the blasted wedding so Cissa can be mine finally, officially.”

Abraxas smirked unkindly. “Whatever spell of allure the girl’s got you under, boy,” he sneered at his son, “the secret of what’s under her skirts is hardly reason to flail about so pathetically. You’ll have people thinking you—”

“Oh please,” responded Lucius, “we’ve managed that much already, obviously.” Both fathers stared at him in shock, Cygnus Black’s palid cheeks going apoplectically red.

“So that’s the reason for all the rush!” Abraxas crowed. “You’ve gotten the girl in a _state_ , and now you’re desperate to hide the scandal!”

“Don’t be absurd,” Lucius sneered coldly. “We’re hardly that stupid.” Mr. Black’s color stabilized somewhat, although his complexion was still splotchy; he was deflating, slightly, and it looked like the power of speech might soon return. “I’m just tired of having to go to all the trouble of sneaking off every time I want to see her,” Lucius continued bluntly. “I want Cissa, and I want her with _me_ , all the time, not just in snatched moments here and there. I want to have this wedding so I can take her home and keep her forever.”

It took both fathers a moment to recover from the boy’s blatant disregard of propriety. Abraxas got there first, snapping at his counterpart, “you hear that? I’m hardly going to pay full price for damaged goods, Cygnus, so you can just—”

“Father I’ll curse you,” Lucius interrupted flatly, “if you ever say anything that insulting about Narcissa again.”

Abraxas stared at him and sputtered, wordless.

“You’ve—my daughter—” Mr. Black stammered, looking outraged.

Lucius stepped around his gaping father and plucked the fanciest, most official-looking bit of parchment off the desk. He seemed to be ignoring his intended’s father as calmly as he was his own. “This all seems reasonable,” he said, skimming the proposed contract. “Father, just sign the damn thing.”

“I—I most certainly will not!” Abraxas declared. “It’s a—a farce—an outrage—hardly going to make that deal, not for a—a—a girl who’s already—”

“Fine,” Lucius growled, “then I will.” He picked up the quill and turned the parchment to face him.

“You will not!” Abraxas shouted. “Of all the—a boy signing his own marriage contract, when his father’s still alive to do it for him? It’s—it’s unheard of! I’ll never—”

“Then. _Sign_. It,” Lucius commanded through his teeth.

No one moved. Abraxas glared at his son, their grey eyes identical mirrors of icy hatred.

“I’m of age,” Lucius reminded his father, “I can sign it myself, if you won’t. And I’m done waiting.” The quill dripped, leaving a single dark mark of ink on the edge of the heavy parchment of the marriage contract. “Well?” Lucius demanded coldly.

Abraxas’s face went white, then red. He stared at Cygnus, and at his insolent son. With a snarl, he shoved Lucius aside, snatched the quill, and scribbled his name. Then he slammed the broken feather down on the desk and stalked from the room.

Lucius turned to Mr. Black and grinned. “So,” he said, “when can we have the wedding?”


End file.
